they had inquired after Clyde’s parents and had learned
that in so far as the Griffiths of Lycurgus were concerned,
there lay a deep objection to bringing on any member of
this western branch of the family. There was, as he
explained, a great social gap between them, which it would
not please the Lycurgus Griffiths to have exploited here.
Besides, who could say but that once Clyde’s parents were
notified or discovered by the yellow press, they might not
lend themselves to exploitation. Both Samuel and Gilbert
Griffths, as Brookhart now informed Belknap, had
suggested that it was best, if Clyde did not object, to
keeping his immediate relatives in the background. In fact,
on this, in some measure at least, was likely to depend the
extent of their financial aid to Clyde.
Clyde was in accord with this wish of the Griffiths, although
no one who talked with him sufficiently or heard him
express how sorry he was on his mother’s account that all
this had happened, could doubt the quality of the blood and
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911
emotional tie that held him and his mother together. The
complete truth was that his present attitude toward her was
a mixture of fear and shame because of the manner in
which she was likely to view his predicament—his moral if
not his social failure. Would she be willing to believe the
story prepared by Belknap and Jephson as to his change of
heart? But even apart from that, to have her come here
now and look at him through these bars when he was so
disgraced—to be compelled to face her and talk to her day
after day! Her clear, inquiring, tortured eyes! Her doubt as
to his innocence, since he could feel that even Belknap and
Jephson, in spite of all their plans for him, were still a little
dubious as to that unintentional blow of his. They did not
really believe it, and they might tell her that. And would his
religious, God-fearing, crime-abhorring mother be more
credulous than they?
Being asked again what he thought ought to be done about
his parents, he replied that he did not believe he could face
his mother yet—it would do no good and would only torture
both.
And fortunately, as he saw it, apparently no word of all that
had befallen him had yet reached his parents in Denver.
Because of their peculiar religious and moral beliefs, all
copies of worldly and degenerate daily papers were
consistently excluded from their home and Mission. And the
Lycurgus Griffiths had had no desire to inform them.
Yet one night, at about the time that Belknap and Jephson
were most seriously debating the absence of his parents
and what, if anything, should be done about it, Esta, who
some time after Clyde had arrived in Lycurgus had married
and was living in the southeast portion of Denver, chanced
to read in The Rocky Mountain News— and this just
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912
subsequent to Clyde’s indictment by the Grand Jury at
Bridgeburg:
BOY SLAYER OF WORKING GIRL INDICTED
Bridgeburg, N. Y., Aug. 6: A special Grand Jury
appointed by Governor Stouderback, of this state, to sit
in the case of Clyde Griffiths, the nephew of the
wealthy collar manufacturer of the same name, of
Lycurgus, New York, recently charged with the killing of
Miss Roberta Alden, of Biltz, New York, at Big Bittern
Lake in the Adirondacks on July 8th last, to-day
returned an indictment charging murder in the first
degree.
Subsequent to the indictment, Griffiths, who in spite of
almost overwhelming evidence, has persisted in
asserting that the alleged crime was an accident, and
who, accompanied by his counsel, Alvin Belknap, and
Reuben Jephson, of this city, was arraigned before
Supreme Court Justice Oberwaltzer, pleaded not guilty.
He was remanded for trial, which was set for October
15th.
Young Griffiths, who is only twenty-two years of age,
and up to the day of his arrest a respected member of
Lycurgus smart society, is alleged to have stunned and
then drowned his working-girl sweetheart, whom he
had wronged and then planned to desert in favor of a
richer girl. The lawyers in this case have been retained
by his wealthy uncle of Lycurgus, who has hitherto
remained aloof. But apart from this, it is locally
asserted, no relative has come forward to aid in his
defense.
Esta forthwith made a hurried departure for her mother’s
home. Despite the directness and clarity of this she was not
willing to believe it was Clyde. Still there was the damning
force of geography and names—the rich Lycurgus Griffiths,
the absence of his own relatives.
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913
As quickly as the local street car would carry her, she now
presented herself at the combined lodging house and
mission known as the “Star of Hope,” in Bildwell Street,
which was scarcely better than that formerly maintained in
Kansas City. For while it provided a number of rooms for
wayfarers at twenty-five cents a night, and was supposed to
be self-supporting, it entailed much work with hardly any
more profit. Besides, by now, both Frank and Julia, who
long before this had become irked by the drab world in
which they found themselves, had earnestly sought to free
themselves of it, leaving the burden of the mission work on
their father and mother. Julia, now nineteen, was cashiering
for a local downtown restaurant, and Frank, nearing
seventeen, had but recently found work in a fruit and
vegetable commission house. In fact, the only child about
the place by day was little Russell, the illegitimate son of
Esta—now between three and four years of age, and most
reservedly fictionalized by his grandparents as an orphan
whom they had adopted in Kansas City. He was a dark-
haired child, in some ways resembling Clyde, who, even at
this early age, as Clyde had been before him, was being
instructed in those fundamental verities which had irritated
Clyde in his own childhood.
At the time that Esta, now a decidedly subdued and
reserved wife, entered, Mrs. Griffiths was busy sweeping
and dusting and making up beds. But on sight of her
daughter at this unusual hour approaching, and with
blanched cheeks signaling her to come inside the door of a
vacant room, Mrs. Griffiths, who,because of years of
difficulties of various kinds, was more or less accustomed
to scenes such as this, now paused in wonder, the swiftly
beclouding mist of apprehension shining in her eyes. What
new misery or ill was this? For decidedly Esta’s weak gray
eyes and manner indicated distress. And in her hand was
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914
folded a paper, whichshe opened and after giving her
mother a most solicitous look, pointed to the item, toward
which Mrs. Griffiths now directed her look. But what was
this?
BOY SLAYER OF WORKING-GIRL
SWEETHEART INDICTED.
CHARGED WITH THE KILLING OF MISS
ROBERTA ALDEN AT BIG BITTERN LAKE IN
THE ADIRONDACKS ON JULY 8 LAST.
RETURNED INDICTMENT CHARGING
MURDER IN THE FIRST DEGREE.
IN SPITE OF ALMOST OVERWHELMING
CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE.
PLEADED NOT GUILTY.
REMANDED FOR TRIAL. SET FOR OCTOBER
15.
STUNNED AND DROWNED HIS WORKING-
GIRL SWEETHEART.
NO RELATIVE HAS COME FORWARD.
It was thus that her eye and her mind automatically
selected the most essential lines. And then as swiftly going
over them again.
CLYDE GRIFFITHS, NEPHEW OF THE
WEALTHY OLLAR MANUFACTURER OF
LYCURGUS, NEW YORK.
Clyde—her son! And only recently—but no, over a month
ago—(and they had been worrying a little as to that, she
and Asa, because he had not—) July 8th! And it was now
An American Tragedy
915
August 11th! Then—yes! But not her son! Impossible!
Clyde the murderer of a girl who was his sweetheart! But he
was not like that! He had written to her how he was getting
along—the head of a large department, with a future. But of
no girl. But now! And yet that other little girl there in Kansas
City. Merciful God! And the Griffiths, of Lycurgus, her
husband’s brother, knowing of this and not writing!
Ashamed, disgusted, no doubt. Indifferent. But no, he had
hired two lawyers. Yet the horror! Asa! Her other children!
What the papers would say! This mission! They would have
to give it up and go somewhere else again. Yet was he
guilty or not guilty? She must know that before judging or
thinking. This paper said he had pleaded not guilty. Oh, that
wretched, worldly, showy hotel in Kansas City! Those other
bad boys! Those two years in which he wandered here and
there, not writing, passing as Harry Tenet. Doing what?
Learning what?
She paused, full of that intense misery and terror which no
faith in the revealed and comforting verities of God and
mercy and salvation which she was always proclaiming,
could for the moment fend against. Her boy! Her Clyde! In
jail, accused of murder! She must wire! She must write!
She must go, maybe. But how to get the money! What to